


It's The Neighbourly Thing To Do

by templecat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Elevator!Fic, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:46:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templecat/pseuds/templecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is Deans 'elevator guy', Cas has a unique way of dealing with his insomnia and Dean is just trying to be a good neighbour, honest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Elevators, broken eggs and cherry pie

Dean steps out of the cold into the only marginally-less-cold lobby of his apartment building. One of the fluorescent strip lights flickers and he scowls at the battered staircase. He’s too tired for all those flights of stairs, so just this once he turns the corner towards the elevator. The doors are open and a man stands inside, arm outstretched to the buttons.

“Hey, hold the door!” He jogs down the short hallway and gets into the elevator, hitting the ‘10’ button. The ‘12’ button is already lit. The man releases the ‘door open’ and with a shudder the doors begin to slide shut. Like everything else in the building, the elevator is ancient. Chances are Dean could beat the damn thing to the 10th floor without breaking much of a sweat. He usually avoids it in favour of the only slightly-safer staircase, but today sheer laziness beats health and safety.

He studies the man next to him for a minute, in a way he hopes is subtle. He’s not seen him around before and wonders if he’s new to the building. The guy is roughly the same height as Dean, but dark haired where he is light. He wears an ugly cream trenchcoat and a serious expression which Deans gut tell him is probably his ‘resting face’. According to Sammy, his is the same. He carries a grocery bag full of lumpy looking things Dean couldn’t guess at. 

“Bit late for the weekly shop.” He nods at the grocery bags.

A flicker of confusion crosses his face at being addressed, but he quickly smoothes it over, glances at Dean sideways and responds evenly, “It’s not the weekly shop. I do that on Thursdays.”

His voice is deeper than Dean was prepared for and it throws him for a second. His tone doesn’t match the words, which were somewhat rude and abrupt. He wasn’t being sarky; he was just commenting on Deans inaccuracy. He continues to stare at the elevator doors.

“I meant that half 3 in the morning is an odd time to be going shopping, that’s all.”

“The customer demand must be sufficient to justify the store being open all night. So no, I don’t believe it’s all that ‘odd’.

Dean holds up his hands, palm out. “Hey didn’t mean any offence by it.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” He sounds honest, and Dean wonders whether the sarcasm is just going over his head instead.

He shrugs. The elevator finally pings and the ancient metal doors squeak begrudgingly open. For some reason Dean feels flustered and says “Well, um-“ then gestures at the open door. “This is me.”

The man’s brow crinkles. “I assumed.”

Dean feels his cheeks warming and quickly steps off the elevator into the dark hall without saying anything else too mortifying.

 

* * *

 

It’s more than a week until Dean sees the elevator man again. It’s 3.30am and Dean shakes himself, trying to get rid of the rain that pelted down as he ran from his car to the apartment. He’d had to park on the road _again_. His jeans were soaked. Screw the stairs. He doesn’t need the chafing.

This time it’s him who holds the door. The man rushes in, dripping rain and clutching another grocery bag. Dean nods hello and presses the ‘12’ button for him. He seems surprised when he notices, but nods a ‘thanks’ back at Dean.

 _Way to play the creepy-stalker card Dean._ He doesn’t know why he remembered the exact floor number the odd man lived on, or why he didn’t let him press the damn button himself. Probably because he looks like a half-drowned puppy, with his dark hair plastered over his forehead. Water trickles along the lines and falls of his face and Dean watches as the man licks off a drop that falls onto his lips. He quickly looks away.

The elevator doors shut and they begin creeping slowly upwards. Dean is determined to have a normal, silent elevator ride this time, with no embarrassing awkwardness, but he can’t say that he’s annoyed when the other man starts the conversation this time.

“Sorry if I’m dripping everywhere. I forgot my umbrella.”

Dean laughs at that. “Dude, I’m pretty much soaked anyway. Don’t worry about it.”

“Did you forget your umbrella too?”

Dean smirks but resists laughing at him again, because that might seem cruel. “I thought I’d be able to park in the underground but my card wasn’t working.” He leaves off the _again_ because he doesn’t want to sound like a whiner. “Got caught out.”

“It’s a bit late to be getting in.”

He doesn’t know whether the man is being cute, mimicking what Dean had said to him last week. His face is all innocence, but something about the way he said it makes Dean suspect he’s aware of the connection. “I work at a bar. Had clean up duty.”

“Ah.”

Dean smiles at the expression on his face, as if a puzzle piece has slotted into place. He wonders whether Dean is _his_ late-night elevator man, and if he is just as curious as Dean is. They reach the tenth floor and Dean steps around the puddle surrounding them and nods goodbye before stepping out.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re leaking.”

“I’m- I’m what?”

Dean points to the grocery bag. The man groans when he sees the bottom of the bag is soaked through, thick liquid dripping in little _splats_ onto the floor. He opens up the bag and pulls out a soggy carton of eggs. Or eggshells, rather as the contents are pooling in the box and Dean wonders how the hell he managed to break half a dozen eggs without realising.

The guy looks dejectedly at the carton and sighs. “I’m going to have to go back to the store.”

“It’s twenty four hours man, just go in the morning.”

“But I need them now.”

“What’s so urgent that it needs eggs at this time of night?”

He bites his lip and looks embarrassed for a moment before muttering “I bake.”

That, he didn’t expect. “Huh?”

“I have trouble sleeping. Baking passes the time and helps me wind down before bed. I was mid-way through a batch of profiteroles when I realised I’d run out of eggs.”

“Profiteroles? Seriously?” He looks hurt and Dean immediately feels bad. “Hey, I’ve got some eggs you can have. Seems pointless to go all the way back to the store when there’s plenty 20 feet below you.”

“I couldn’t possibly-“

The doors ping open and Dean rolls his eyes. “Sure you can. Let me do the neighbourly thing. It’s new to me.”

He smiles gratefully and follows Dean off the elevator and into the hallway. They reach a door with a crooked 10B nailed to it and as Dean works the keys in the lock he stops, holds up a finger to the man’s startled face and says “Uh. Don’t judge the mess.”

He pushes the door open before he can respond and strides inside. The man follows cautiously, lingering around the doorway. The apartment is small and opens straight into the living room/kitchen, like all others in the building. It isn’t that untidy really, just a few discarded clothes hanging over the back of the couch and a couple of used plates here and there. Dean calls from the kitchen, “How many do you need?”

“Four. Please.”

Dean wanders back to the doorway, clutching a small carton which he hands over to the man, who is eyeing the extensive record collection Dean had filling his shelves. He looks away, as if caught spying, and takes the eggs. “Thank you. It was very... neighbourly of you to help me like this.”

“Hey I did it for the profiteroles man. Half-made pastry? That’s a tragedy.”

He smirks. “I feel like I should at least know the name of my profiterole-rescuer.”

“Dean. I’m Dean.”

“Castiel.” He holds up the carton and smiles. “Thank you.”

“Thank me in pie.”

Castiel laughs and turns away, heading to the elevator.  Dean closes the door and goes to bed with a grin on his face.

 

* * *

 

 

“Dude I was joking about the pie. You didn’t have to make me-“

“I know, but I wanted to express my gratitude.”

“You could have just bought me some eggs.” At Castiel’s hurt expression Dean quickly forgets his bashfulness and takes the freshly baked cherry pie from him. “But this is so much better. Thank you.”

Castiel relaxes and replies quietly. “You’re more than welcome.”

Dean eyes him, noting the way the corner of his lips tug upwards slightly, as though he were fighting the urge to smile. He licks his lips. “Have a slice with me.”

“I couldn’t impose myself-“

“It’s your damn pie Cas. You should at least get to try it.” He nods towards his front door at the end of the hallway. “Come on.”

Castiel smiles, and Dean’s not sure whether it’s because of the nickname, the invitation or whether he just likes pie. Either way he follows Dean back to his apartment and a few minutes later they are both sat at the small dining table in Dean’s kitchen, two small plates of cherry pie in front of them. Dean moans when he tastes the first mouthful. Castiel blushes, which Dean finds equal parts adorable and hilarious. He laughs.

Castiel smirks and asks “Do you two want to be alone?”

“Definitely.” The pastry is so crisp and the berries so juicy that he is not exaggerating his reaction. He finishes his slice before Castiel is even half way through his own. Castiel catches him eyeing it and pushes the plate towards him.

“You don’t want it?”

“I find that I enjoy the act of baking more than the finished product.”

Dean slides the plate closer and starts on the second slice. “What do you normally do with all the leftovers then?”

Castiel shrugs, watching the way Dean licks the cherry sauce off the back of the fork between each mouthful. “I sometimes take them into the office but my co-workers are getting annoyed with how ‘unhealthy’ I’m making them. I’m ashamed to say that more than a few times I’ve ended up throwing away whole batches because they’ve gone off before anyone got round to eating them.”

Dean splutters and looks appalled. “No way, I can’t have that. Not a chance. I can’t bake for peanuts but I can eat like a champion.” He rests both elbows on the table and leans towards Castiel, wagging his fork. “I think I see a solution to both our problems. Next time you get your bakers hat on, you come round here and we’ll work our way through all of the deliciousness together. I’ll chip in for ingredients of course.” He smirks. “Reckon that’ll work?”

There’s a sparkle in Cas’s eyes as he leans forwards with a matching smirk and dips his finger into the cherry sauce on Deans plate. He licks it from the tip of his finger and enjoys the expression on Deans face. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that could work out fine.”

 


	2. The Name's Winchester, Dean Winchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was never planned to be an actual fic, but I couldn't leave it alone. I've not written an AU before longer than a drabble so any constructive criticism is much appreciated.

 

Dean couldn’t really say he enjoyed his life in the city, ever since moving there six months ago. He hated how impersonal it was, how he could live amongst a million people and not have a friend. He hated his shitty apartment, with the ceiling that leaked whenever the guy above him took a shower and the broken bed propped up on a cinderblock because it was missing a leg. But most of all he hated his job at the bar, Alastair’s. An old friend of Dads, when Dean had turned up on his doorstep one night, ashen faced and silent, a duffle bag and an old motorbike with him, Alastair had offered him a job. Without any other options, Dean had taken it.

It was nights like these, as he rubbed spit into the burn on the back of his neck, that he truly appreciated just what a terrible decision that had been. He wanted to get out. He wanted it so badly. His thoughts turned to Sam and he knew he would never be able to.

He pulled up the collar on his shirt, wincing when it rubbed over the sore skin and stepped out into the cool, early morning air. He checked his watch. 2.45am. Was it too late? He and Castiel had met up several times since they’d first shared that cherry pie. After a nights baking Castiel would bring round whatever deliciousness he’d made and they’d work their way through some of it before Dean went to work. They had fallen into a very easy friendship, Dean often offering ideas for new recipes which Castiel happily obliged him with a few days later. They were close, but only in a narrow way, having never spent time together outside of their little baking club. Dean turned on his phone and  stared down at the number he had never dialled, having only sent a few texts demanding more pie. And now he was contemplating calling in the middle of the night. What if he was asleep? What if by calling he accidentally crossed some invisible line, breaking the boundaries of their carefully boxed friendship? He had grown to really enjoy Cas’ company; the reserved baker had an acerbic wit and chatting with him over a freshly baked cake had become the highlight of his otherwise pitiful week. He really did not want to risk throwing that away.

But tonight, God, he could use the distraction. Anything to take his mind off the bar he’d just walked out of. Praying that he wasn’t about to throw away the best thing that happened to him since moving here, he pressed dial. It only rang twice before Cas’ voice, thankfully not sounding like he’d just been woken up, said “Hello?”

“Cas? It’s Dean.”

“I know.”

“How did you know?”

“Caller ID is not a recent invention.”

Dean sighed and rubbed his brow. “It’s been a long night.”

Castiel made a soft noise. “Need some pie?”

Something in Dean warmed. “Only if you’re not busy. I don’t want to keep you up.”

“Insomniac, Dean. I’ll be up anyway and it would be nice to have company for a change. This time of night it’s like the whole world’s asleep.”

“Except us.”

Dean could have imagined it but he would’ve sworn he could hear the smile playing on Castiels lips. “There’s a new recipe I’ve been wanting to try for a while. I need some ingredients though. You don’t mind if we go to the store, do you?”

“I totally object to going to the store with you so you can buy ingredients to make me a pie just because I called you in the middle of the night.”

He definitely heard the smile this time. “I’ll meet you outside Walmart in ten minutes.”

 

* * *

 

Dean felt his mood lighten the moment Castiel had turned up, blowing into his cupped hands for warmth against the cold. His cheeks and the tip of his nose had gone pink, but he smiled at Dean and Alastair was pushed from his mind as he smiled back. The sudden change in mood almost made him giddy and he found himself becoming silly with it. He was suddenly intensely grateful for Castiels tendency to not ask questions as he had no desire to discuss the reason for his unusual late night request. They stopped in the baking aisle and Dean clapped his hands together.

“So, what are we cooking up tonight?” At Castiels raised eyebrow he rolled his eyes and amended, “Fine; what are _you_ cooking up tonight? Although I’d just like to put on record that without my excellent ideas and spectacular company before you bake I’m pretty sure those cakes wouldn’t taste nearly as good.”

“Is that so?”

Dean nodded seriously. “I’m your muse.”

“My muse. Right.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean grinned wickedly, picking a cherry out of the basket and twirling it round his fingers. “All that chocolate and flour and vanilla is nothing without a bit of Winchester magic sprinkled in with it.”

Castiel wrinkled his nose. “That sounds unsanitary.”

Dean threw the cherry at Castiel, who laughed, ducking so that it flew past his shoulder and into a shelf of cake decorations. A tub of hundreds and thousands fell and smashed open in an explosion of multicoloured sprinkles. Dean looked from it to Castiel, eyes wide and cried “Run for it!”

Laughing like errant schoolboys they sprinted down the aisle and round the corner. They stopped in the adjacent aisle and peeked through the shelf to see a weary kid with a crooked namebadge stare at the scattered candy, sigh heavily and head towards the supply closet.

“Quick, before he gets back. Grab what you need, ninja style, and we’ll sprint to the checkout.”

Castiel bit his lip. “I don’t know Dean. Maybe we should apologise, help clean up.”

Dean shook his head. “It’s 3am. This is probably the most exciting thing that’s going to happen in that guys whole shift. Who are we to deprive him of that?” When Castiel still didn’t look convinced he put on his most charming smile and said, “Fine, I watched a lot of James Bond movies as a kid. Humour me.”

Smirking, Castiel nodded and they silently sprinted back up the aisle. Castiel grabbed various items, hissing at Dean to get others. They heard the door to the supply closet squeak open on rusty hinges and exchanged panicked glances.

Dean whispered “Mission abort!”

As they ran to the front of the store Castiel stared in amazement at Dean and asked “Are you humming the James Bond theme tune?”

Dean nearly crashed into a Fruit Loops display. “Wh- What? I’m not-... Shut up.” Castiel threw his head back and roared with laughter. They reached the checkouts only slightly out of breath, earning a fearful glance from the cashier before she realised they had stopped so they could pay, not steal.

“Whatever you hear,” Dean told her earnestly, “it wasn’t us.”

Castiel tried to hide his laugh behind his hand. The woman just shook her head and muttered to herself, “I get all the crazies.”

 

* * *

 

Forty minutes later they were in Castiels small kitchen. Castiel was piping something colourful onto a baking tray while Dean hovered over him trying to steal tastes of it with his finger. Castiel swatted his hand away and chastised “You can try them when they’re cooked.”

“Are you still not going to tell me what you’re making?”

“Do you need me to define ‘surprise’ for you again?”

Dean wrinkled his nose. “Once was enough.”

Castiel finished piping and put the red and white swirls into the oven. It had gotten very warm in the tiny room and the blast of heat as Castiel opened the oven door made Dean start sweating. He pulled off his shirt, leaving him in just his t shirt. He pulled self-consciously at the hem. Stupid dryer, shrinking his clothes when he couldn’t afford new ones. He looked up to catch Castiel staring at his arms, where the sleeve was pressed tight around his bicep. He gulped and turned back to the oven, setting the timer. Dean sat down, smiling.

“So how long will it take to cook?” Dean asked as Castiel washed his hands.

Cas shrugged. “Twenty minutes. But my oven can be a bit temperamental. I’ll keep checking them to make sure they don’t burn.” He dried his hands and threw the tea towel onto the counter. He walked behind Dean, heading to the other side of the table. He stopped abruptly and Dean turned around to see him frowning. Castiel shook his head slightly and continued, sitting down opposite Dean.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck nervously, hoping Castiel hadn’t spotted the burn that was no longer hidden by his shirt. If he had he was doing the usual Cas thing of not prying. It was a trait Dean was learning to appreciate.

Having never been in Castiels apartment before Dean was very interested to have a look around but didn’t want to seem too nosy. He contented himself with sneaking glances around when Castiel wasn’t looking. He clearly wasn’t being as stealth as he thought when Cas sighed and said “Should I just give you the tour before you break your neck?”

Dean, who had been checking out Castiels DVD collection under the guise of leaning back in his chair, sat forward again and grinned sheepishly. “Am I that obvious?”

“About some things. Others... you’re a bit harder to figure out.”

“Man of mystery, that’s me.”

Castiel laughed and they stood up. He gestured to the kitchen around them. “This is the kitchen. “

“No shit.”

“Do you want me to give you the tour or not?”

Dean mimed zipping up his lips and throwing away the key. He raised an eyebrow and Cas rolled his eyes before continuing.

“This is the kitchen. I bake a lot so there’s usually flour everywhere, no matter how much I clean up after myself.” It was clear by the rest of Castiels apartment that he was quite a tidy person, as there didn’t seem to be an item out of place but clearly the kitchen was his messy place. He looked almost embarrassed now, as if only just noticing the empty boxes of egg cartons and stacks of various food colourings and flavourings. “Um, it’s all clean, I promise. I just have a lot of baking equipment and ingredients.”

Dean looked disapprovingly over the kitchen, tutting. Cas swatted his arm and led him across to the living room area. Like most of Castiels apartment it was decorated simply but colourfully. There were several illustrations on the wall but no photographs. A small television sat opposite a rich, blue sofa scattered with multicoloured cushions. It wasn’t really what Dean had expected but he liked it. They spent a few minutes discussing Castiels small DVD collection and Dean was horrified to learn how few movies the baker had seen.

“Star Wars, come on, everyone’s seen Star Wars.”

“I think I might have seen one. It had the man with the black and red face paint.”

“That doesn’t count. I’m talking Han Solo, Darth Vader, Princess Leia in a gold bikini.”

Cas shrugged. “No then. I haven’t seen them.”

“You need educating. Next time you come round, you’re watching A New Hope. No arguments.”

“I have no arguments, but you have work.”

Dean tried not to scowl at the thought of Alastair’s. He rubbed the back of his neck subconsciously and said “Well, you’ll have to come round on my night off. I’m free Tuesday?”

Castiel stared for a moment at Deans hand, and his eyes flashed before he said “That sounds lovely.”

Dean smiled and his arm fell back to his side. “Cool.”

The tour took them to the bathroom next, earning nothing more than a vague wave through the open door and a muttering of “Fairly self-explanatory.”

They reached the door to the bedroom and Dean paused. Was it normal to see the bedroom on a tour of someone’s home? He wouldn’t know, he’d never done anything like this before. He looked to Castiel for guidance but he just breezed past him and strode into the small bedroom. Dean hovered near the doorway and tried not to look too interested, despite his curiosity.

“And this is my bedroom.”

Dean stared at the large double bed that took up nearly the whole room. It was by far the most colourful thing in the room, its rich burgundy sheets in stark contrast with the plain white walls and wardrobe. The duvet was almost as thick as the mattress and for a moment Dean was tempted to fall into it and see if it felt as soft as it looked.

Castiel caught him staring and said “Ironic really. The most expensive thing in my whole apartment is the thing I use the least.” At Deans questioning glance he elaborated. “I thought if I had a quality bed I might find it easier to sleep.”

“Did it help?”

“It’s 4am and I’m stood here staring at it. What do you think?”

Dean thought there were a lot of things you could do in a bed like that apart from sleeping. His gaze moved down to Castiels lips. The heat in the apartment had made him keep licking them to stop them drying out and they were shiny. He suddenly realised that the small room and the large bed meant there was very little space for them to actually stand and they were closer than they had been throughout the whole evening. If he wanted to Dean could reach out and touch Castiels hand, his fingers still with sprinkled with sugar even though he’d washed them. Dean wondered if his skin would taste sweet.

He looked up to see Cas staring at him, eyes fixed on the tongue Dean was holding against his upper teeth. His pupils were blown. His dark hair was sticking up messily one side where he’d run his hand through it. Dean held his breath as Cas leaned almost imperceptibly forwards, one hand rising slightly as if to reach towards Dean.

A shrill beeping broke the silence. With a start Castiel leaned back, eyes snapping back up to Deans. He looked startled, as though he had been brought out of a spell. He gave a quick shake of his head. “The meringues.”

And without another word he swept past Dean and headed towards the kitchen, and the beeping oven, leaving Dean stood alone in his bedroom, thoroughly confused.

 

 


End file.
